Into the WILD
Vol. 01 | Field Notes from Backpacking the Appalachian Trail
I’ve never been a camping kind of person.
In fact, my idea of camping was an air-conditioned cabin in the mountains— decked out with a fully-equipped kitchen, luxurious bathroom, and hot tub under the stars. Oh, and never taking a trip without a suitcase full of cozy athleisure and my Ayurvedic skincare routine.
What can I say? I’m a true Taurus.
But when I dropped my dad off at the airport to begin his thru hike of the Appalachian Trail— from Georgia to Maine— the call of the wild started howling louder.
Everyone tried to talk me down when I decided to tackle 100 miles on the Appalachian trail—but the beauty of NEVER backpacking before in my life meant I didn’t know my limits. In fact, I didn’t know anything about what I was committing to.
“Start with 20 miles,” my dad said when I told him my plan. “This is REALLY hard.”
I eat hard experiences for breakfast, I thought, but told him that I had already made up my mind and he should just make sure I have everything I need.
A new 70-liter pack, sleeping bag, water filtration system, and another $1,000 of gear later… I was ready for my showerless adventure into the wilderness.
The first day was a beast. My dad, Flash (trail name*), who had been hiking for three months by this point, planned for 16 “easy” miles to our tent spot. No problemo, right? No. We got a late start, had to backtrack the mile he missed from being driven to the hotel (adding 2 miles to our total), and needless to say… didn’t hit our mark.
After another hour of circling the public park for a spot to stealth camp [in the dark], we found a spot in tall grass. And as annoyed I was with my dad for not wanting to illegally camp along the road where it was much more flat and cozy, we got to experience something I may never get to witness again…
…a newborn deer nursing her mother! The baby could barely stand, and as we attempted to squeeze by her on the trail, she tried running away (more like stumbling) for about six feet before diving her head into the bushes—her body sticking out on the trail.
If I can’t see them, then they can’t see me, she must have thought.
I slept terribly that first night. I woke to every sound in the stillness of the night. The soreness in my legs settling in from hiking with a 30-lb pack for the first time ever. I was hungry and thirsty, and honestly, a little nervous about the morning bathroom situation—despite figuring out how to pee in the woods without peeing on myself.
My legs are broken. I thought the next morning, as the sunrise seeped through my tent walls. I could barely bend my knees and my calves were screaming. Nevertheless, I crawled out of my tent at 5:30 AM and started hot water [for much-needed coffee] on the tiny camp burner.
Thank goodness day two was a short 5.5 miles to the road for a shuttle to a nearby hostel. I hobbled my way through the forest, meeting a few other thru hikers* along the way.
As we emerged from the trees, I saw my new Australian trail friend, Laurel (trail name), who I just met the day before, waiting by the road.
“I have a trail name for you,” she called out to me. I was beyond excited.
“Hot Boots,” she went on. “Because your feet must be on fire after a 16-mile first day on the trail!”
My dad groaned. Hot Boots was not necessarily the name HE was thinking of for his first born, but Laurel and I quickly shut down his ideas of Newbie, Kiddo, and Flash’s Daughter.
Hot Boots. I liked it. And it was totally on-brand with my hot pink cheetah gaiters (shoe coverings).
Allison, the hostel owner pulled up in her minivan to pick us up. You could tell she built a tough, but friendly, exterior in order to keep us rowdy (and stinky) hikers in line. Her knowledge of the trail was extensive, and her memory of hikers she’d shuttled and housed was nothing short of impressive. I was starting to feel the sense of community—family?—held together by the miles of the AT (Appalachian Trail).
I’ve never stayed in a hostel before—not really my thing to bunk with strangers [who may snore], or share a room in a musty, old home. And I kept it that way… reserving a spot in the yard for my Durston tent, which I was getting REALLY good at setting up on my own.
Remember when I said I had never backpacked before? The whole thing about not having expectations?
Well, I got the FULL experience. June in the Shenandoah Mountains happens to be very hot, and very… rainy.
My second night sleeping outdoors was wild. Thunderstorms, downpours, and being woke with a start at 1 AM by a train blaring it’s horn as it chugged by—so loud enough it sounded like it was driving straight over my tent.
I guess sleep is a luxury out here.
Despite broken sleep, the early mornings were my favorite. First sun peeking through my eyelids, birds happily chirping, drops of dew dripping from the trees onto my tent. No need for an alarm when nature wakes to its own rhythm.
Day 2 was another beast of a hike: 16 miles. My legs were still recovering from the DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) from day 1, but after a few miles I started to loosen up.
Soggy paths, wet brush, mosquitos and no-see-ums sucking us dry, and my backpack feeling heavy as lead with a full water carry (2.75 liters). I can’t say this was part of the calm and serene stroll through nature I dreamed about, but I was committed to the process.
Every step I took peeled back another layer of my Self.
Spending 24/7 with my dad brought up old childhood triggers that needed healing. Pushing my body to build the muscles and stamina needed to hike for 8 hours a day with a pack challenged my limiting beliefs about my capabilities.
I 100% expected these 100 miles to be a physical challenge, but I had no clue how much I would be cracked open by nature. So much, I would write furiously every evening as my eyes felt heavy with exhaustion. I have to get this out, I encouraged myself. My body and mind were purging the undigested traumas, with Pachamama holding my hair.
I was being cleansed… but not like a gentle, Baptismal ceremony.
But more like a Ron Weasley vomiting frogs kind of way.
Needless to say, the trail changed me.
Thank you for reading the first part of my story.
Volume 2 of my AT* Field Notes coming soon!
xo,
Hot Boots
GLOSSARY—
Trail Name: the nickname given to a hiker, specific to the hiker’s identity, quirks, or something related to their hiking experience (Ex: Laurel was given her trail name because she came on the trail just as the mountain laurels were blooming)
Thru Hiker: a term used for those who are currently hiking the full 2,000+ miles of the Appalachian trail. Different from day hikers (who park and hike a section for the day), and section hikers (who backpack the trail in segments, going back to "normal life” in between).
AT: shorthand for Appalachian Trail